Masquerade
by K'Ranna
Summary: Squire Thom has met the lady of his dreams, but he doesn't know what she looks like, nor even her name. Ilona is a lady with potent, uncontrolled power, but her brand of magic may be the only thing that can save Tortall in the long war ahead. Ongoing.


Disclaimer: Tortall and all its characters (including Thom) belong to Tamora Pierce and… Scholastic, I believe. Most of the characters are mine, however. Once Upon A December belongs to Disney. I claim no rights to anything but the characters and places I made up, and this fanfic. So don't sue. You won't get anything out of me anyway; I am dirt poor for the moment. ~.~ Ah, the joys of being a high school student.

Author's notes: Whoo boy. This thing was written in the middle of the night yesterday/this morning. Which means, I'm sure, that it's riddled with mistakes and grammatical errors, but I checked it as best I could once I'd finished writing it. You'll notice the writing probably goes decidedly downhill near the end where I was tiring, but I'm hoping this is a decent read anyway. I would _love_ having a beta reader or two, if anyone's offering *hinthint* The entire chapter just came out of me in a rush, and was inspired by a masque that _was_ hanging on the wall and had fallen down, as well as the fact that I'd been reading Wild Magic and realised I could do what I wanted with Thom, as he had no pre-made personality attached to him. That way, I could be sure I would be able to keep the characters IC. I don't remember how Roald's ascension to knighthood was celebrated, and I'm sure holding a masquerade is quite out of character for Jon, but that's fine. I can only do so much with what I'm given. Oh, I used Once Upon A December because I didn't want to think up a pretty-sounding poem; I am absolutely no good with poetry at all, alas. I haven't read Ms. Pierce's newest book, _Trickster's Choice_, so unfortunately this is going to be slightly A/U. Oh, I'll probably be updating this every other week if I'm lucky (I'll try, at least), but due to the fact that finals *sigh* are coming up, this month might be a little slow. Well, I hope you enjoy! :) PLEASE R&R – the more reviews I get, the more I write. ;)

Brilliant colours – greens and blues, reds and yellows, gold and silver linings – filled the large hall. To Squire Thom of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, it felt like the nobles were _trying_ for an award in worst taste; he was sure he hadn't seen such a riot of colours like this since a trip to an exotic Carthaki museum when he was but 4 years old. Ladies wore garish gowns, tight around the bosom and abdomen and flared around the waist, though few had the body for such garments. Lords wore crisp shirts and breeches with large mantles, trying as desperately as their ladies to hide visible paunches, and failing just as miserably. The result was an absolute eyesore, though Thom had far better manners than to say so. At least all the noblemen and women gathered at this masquerade party had half their faces covered by the excessively gaudy masques, so as not to be embarrassed by their hideous physiques.

Thom himself was dressed as a hawk, and though the large beak extending over his nose was slightly awkward, he knew _he_, at least, looked good in his costume. The false brown feathers that spread over his mantle were warm, earthy tones, his clothing the same; his masque was made of the same false feathers, though far softer and downier, in a fierce and wild pattern. The whole affair was subtly outlined with gold threading, an addition his mother, Alanna, had been insistent upon – "You might as well look good, the amount we're paying for this!" she had told him weeks before, when the final details were being worked out. The outfit was made to emphasize his broad shoulders and strong frame, and it did that well. A good thing, too: his wavy, flame-red hair was unmistakeable; the wide, sensuous mouth he had inherited from his father just as much. Were he to look as hideous as most of the elders around him, he would be laughed out of court, he was sure.

"Enjoying the party, my boy?" a softly amused voice asked. Thom turned to see his grandfather gazing at him, glass of wine in hand as always.

"I see you're not in costume," Thom replied. "Trying to ruin the mood, grandfather?"

Myles laughed and shook his head. "I'm too old for this kind of thing," he replied. "I just dropped by to see how you were doing. You should be socialising, Thom."

Thom shuddered. "With _them_?" he asked incredulously, nodding at a group of giggling girls that passed him by. They were not so bad as far as this party went – slim, well-dressed, pampered young ladies, but at least they were in colours that did not harm the eye.

"Aye, with them," Myles nodded. "You'll be 16 soon, lad. If you don't find a nice young lady, people will begin to wonder if you don't fancy men."

"Let them think that," Thom sneered, voice dripping disdain. "I, for one, am waiting for someone _worth_ the effort. All these Court manners, and the flowers, and the little gifts – and don't forget the poems! Mithros, but I hate the palace sometimes."

"If you hated the social agenda so very much, you shouldn't have decided to become a knight," Myles replied calmly. "As I told your mother when she was young – a knight is a social animal. I'll be going now," he added. "This hall is far too drafty for these old bones."

"D'you need any help?" Thom asked hopefully, and sighed when his grandfather laughed and shook his head. "Alright, grandfather, goodnight."

"You as well, lad, though it doesn't seem you'll have one!" Myles replied, and with a final soft laugh, made his exit.

Making his way to the long buffet tables to one side of the hall, Thom could only wonder what he'd done, that the gods would punish him so. Listing off the pranks he'd pulled in the last few months, he came up with more than a handful that had gone a bit too far, but certainly none that would require such disciplining as this! "Ye gods, let them not see me," he muttered under his breath – as the maturing heir of Pirate's Swoop and Olau, he was far too eligible to court the young ladies who harried his every step. It didn't help that he was tall, strong, and handsome, either, and had a temper as gentle as his mother's was fiery. Those air-headed little girls, however, would test any young man's patience, and when his temper flared, it was truly frightening. Which meant, of course, that he would rather prefer not to repeat the kind of incident that had occurred 6 months ago in Pirate's Swoop.

"Oh, Squire _Thom!_" a breathy voice came from the crowds, and Thom flinched as he recognised the hip-swaying saunter of Roeaine, the most persistent of his admirers. The gait, Thom was sure, was _meant_ to be alluring, but it only reminded him of a large-bottomed cow. "I've found you at last!"

"My lady Roeaine," Thom replied, bowing low over her extended hand and kissing the air above it as he had been taught to do, "what a pleasure it is to see you tonight, and in such a lovely gown, as well!" In point of fact, the shockingly low red dress only reinforced his earlier impression of a vapid-eyed farm animal somehow, but he could hardly say that.

Roeaine giggled stupidly. "I'm dressed as a phoenix," she told him, twirling in a slow circle so he could see the large expanse of skin revealed by the cut of her attire. "A fiery bird of prey, wouldn't you say? My phoenix to your hawk." Her voice was proud at having found some sort of connection between her costume and his.

"My, but such a beautiful phoenix you make," Thom murmured, pretending to admire the preening young lady. Inwardly, he groaned, knowing what was coming up next but unwilling to initiate it.

"A dance then, dear hawk?" Roeaine suggested, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach hit rock bottom. He could only nod and offer her his arm, where she rested a delicate little gloved hand as he escorted her to the dance floor.

Dancing while holding their masques up was an art the whole court had learned, though rarely had the occasion occurred to use it. Now, however, it was the Midwinter of the Heir's knighting, and King Jonathan had thrown this ball in celebration. Thom was sure the ladies had practised excessively for this dance – _he_ could barely keep in step, but Roeaine had no problem dancing and chattering away about whatever came to mind. Thom glanced at the musicians near the front of the hall, but they showed no sign that they would be willing to change songs.

It felt like hours before the melody changed to a livelier tune and Thom ushered Roeaine back to the sidelines, saying he didn't like the song. Unfortunately, a platoon of sharp-eyed girls had spotted him dancing and descended upon him rapidly to hover around him, too 'proper' to ask for a dance as she had, but far too persistent to just let him go. Thom was forced to listen to the girls in their pathetic attempts to best each other in boasts, at gossiping, and at revealing as much skin as they could without being dragged away by the ear by their far more prim and proper mothers.

Thom looked around for his friends and potential saviours, but found them busy wooing their own sweethearts. He was on his own for this one, he realised grimly, and his chances at escape were slim.

It didn't make sense, really, why the girls chased after him so. It was true that he was the heir to a large fortune, but that didn't hide the fact that he was also the firstborn child of the only female knight in living memory and an ex-King of Thieves. His childhood had been far from the toys-and-happiness that so many of the ladies had gone through; in fact, living at Pirate's Swoop had introduced him to a life fraught with danger from a very young age, for the barony was aptly named. He'd been small as a child, almost small enough that he had feared he wouldn't be able to complete his training for knighthood, but had grown faster than a bean plant once he hit puberty.

The girls had ignored him then, though at the time he had minded far more than he did now. Gawky and awkward, he had stumbled through his pre-teen years with predictable clumsiness until he filled out, at which point he had realised the girls weren't worth wooing anyway. Unfortunately, it was at this point that they began to descend upon him like a flock of Stormwings – fast, menacing and dangerous. That was more than a year ago now, and Thom had begun to regret the instinctive courtesy that had allowed each and every lady to claim that he favoured _her_ and her only, for just the other day he had paid her such a delightful compliment.

"Excuse me." A slim young lady made her way through the crowd gathered around him, her voice an unintentionally throaty purr. Dressed in a tasteful, orange-red dress that clung to her gentle curves and highlighted her healthy, tanned skin and midnight-black hair, she was the picture of quiet elegance. A fox's masque covered her face, and beneath the masque, her well-formed lips were curved in a shy smile. "Squire Thom, would you like to dance?"

Thom stifled the sigh that threatened to escape his lips, and nodded, bowing and kissing the air above the girl's gloved hand. "I would love to." A haunting, soft melody was just beginning as Thom led the girl to the dance floor, hoping against hope that this would be short. Thom was startled to hear a woman's voice hovering in the air, for rarely did the court musicians play something with words.

_Dancing bears, painted wings_

_Things I almost remember._

_And a song someone sings_

_Once upon a December._

"It looked like you needed rescuing," the lady disguised as a fox remarked, irony heavy in her voice, "so I figured I'd save you from the misery of listening to those girls giggle at you; your knight in shining armour, I suppose you could say."

Thom laughed, surprised. "Why thank you, my knight," he replied, relieved. He'd been worried that the girl was yet another lass hopeful that he would drop to his knees and ask her to marry him, but it was obvious she was no such thing. "How could you tell?"

"You're a good actor, especially when those girls are so very desperate to believe you want them, but the agony in your eyes was just too much," the lady said. "Really, is it so very bad?"

"They're always _fluttering_. Hands opening up fans and flickering them before their faces, batting their eyelashes, letting their hair flare in the wind – whatever. They won't stop _moving_, won't stop _gossiping_, won't stop _giggling_…"

"If you think that's bad, try having to put up with them all the time," his unexpected rescuer interrupted. "I actually have to _socialise_ with them while _you_ ride out with your knight master."

"You have a point there," Thom agreed. "I don't know how you stand it."

The lady paused, thought about that a moment, then grinned. "It's almost worth it, to be able to put frogs in their beds," she told him, startling a laugh out of him.

"I bet," he agreed, and tightened his grip about her as he guided her around the other dancers.

The last strains of the melody drifted through the air, and Thom let the lady go somewhat regretfully. He'd have to go back to the other ladies now, unless he wanted them to – horror of horrors – get the wrong idea.

"Thank you for that," he told her quietly as she curtsied and walked away gracefully. She turned to give him a small smile, then continued to meld back into the crowd. "Wait! I don't even know your name." She continued walking, ignoring the plea in his voice.


End file.
